A mine's a mine the world around, A cheerless place wherever found, Dismal and dark beyond compare And charged with foul, unwholesome air, Which fills the lungs at every breath With germs of an untimely death. In caverns subterranean, With limbs not bound by gyve or chain, Of those who toil, few are the men Who reach the threescore years and ten. Such was the smoke-polluted mine Wherein we slaved from morn till night, Or when the sun had ceased to shine We toiled till his returning light, Then dragged each one his ball and chain Back to his bed of straw again. Day after day could there be seen The same monotonous routine; Such was the drudging life we led Till hope from every bosom fled, And each became as time rolled on A spiritless automaton. The details of a captive's lot I fear would interest you not, So your forbearance I beseech, While, in impromptu forms of speech, I strive in simple terms to shape The narrative of my escape. * * * * * From out the realms of tropic heat, Invading with contagious feet, Came there a plague, one summer-tide. Up from the south with fatal stride It stalked, and poured its vials forth Upon the sparsely settled North; A wave of pestilence and fear Swept o'er the northland far and near; The frenzied peasants, in their fright, Sought safety in promiscuous flight; In consternation and alarm, To seek immunity from harm, They left the sick in their distress, And fled into the wilderness; As if, within the solitude, The Nemesis, which had pursued, Might satiate its deadly wrath, And deviate or change its path, And its malignant steps retrace Back to the southern starting-place. The able-bodied left behind The paralyzed, the halt and blind; The well in abject terror fled, Forsook the dying, while the dead, Unburied in the summer breeze, Became a nidus of disease, Wherefrom fresh seeds of pestilence Were scattered by the elements. Of those who felt its loathsome breath, But few escaped a speedy death; So rapid were the ravages Of that distemper or disease, That many, stricken in the night, Expired before the dawn of light; For some, who in the morning time Stood well and strong in manhood's prime, The noontide brought the fatal scourge, And evening zephyrs played the dirge; Those who survived the plague direct Oft died from hunger and neglect; The convalescents woke and found No ministering forms around, No watcher sitting by the bed, Alone were they, save for the dead; They called, but Echo's voice alone Answered the supplicating moan; They prayed, but no one heard their prayer, Then perished from the want of care.